


What A Mess

by holdingtorches



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Actor Tom Hiddleston, Co-workers, F/M, Make Up, on-set relationship, set-up relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-04
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:47:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14533032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdingtorches/pseuds/holdingtorches
Summary: You're a makeup artist assigned to Tom Hiddleston, and one day, one thing leads to another...





	What A Mess

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first try into writing smut ((this isn't even full blown smut though)) so please be merciful! Forgive me if it's a little rough around the edges; I wanted to post this before my academic requirements pile up on me! *awkward laughter*

"How. Did. This. Happen."

You whispered, more to the mirror than yourself. Through the reflection in the mirror, you saw Tom seated in the chaise lOng he in your work trailer, his face softly illuminated by the beauty lights of your workstation as he waited patiently for God knows what was in store for him: even you didn't know. You put your palms to your face, trying your best to remember how on Earth you got to where you were now.

* * *

 

It started out a normal day at work. You opened the trailer door and found Tom, seated on the work chair in front of the vanity.

"Hello, Tom! Good morning!" You greeted him, setting your bag down and immediately laying out the tools of your trade on the desk in front of the both of you.

"How are you, darling?" he asked. You smiled at him, all the while thinking of what you were going to do with his face that day. The brief was to make him look a little rugged but still suave. His role for his current project was the smooth-talking ladies' man of a group of spies for a film, with Taika Waititi directing.

"Same old, same old," you replied, setting out all the products you needed for his face.

"Do you have a new playlist for today?" he asked you, an excited glint in his eyes. You smirked and dug around your bag for your iPod, and wiggled it in front of him.

"Ye-hess!!" the man exclaimed, taking the iPod from you and connecting it to the speakers on the desk. The air filled with the intro of "I Wanna Be Yours" by the Arctic Monkeys, and he gave you an incredulous look, his eyebrow seeming to pose a question. You replied with a flippant shrug. At that moment, you swore to the high heavens, you deserved an Oscar for your acting skills. There was no way in the world that you would ever let him know that the playlists were your way of flirting with him, of telling him how you feel about him. Come hell or high water, there was no way in fuck that you would express in coherent words the desire and longing that echoed within all the music you’ve played for him in the past months.

You put primer on you fingers and spread it through his face. God, you knew of hordes of women that would slaughter you without a moment's thought just for your job. To be the one to apply makeup to Tom Hiddleston's face on a daily basis and, in the process of doing so, run your fingers through his glorious cheekbones, the divot on his straight nose, his sharp jaw… You drew in a deep breath, one he definitely heard.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked you, looking at you through the mirror in front of him.  
“Nothing,” you said dismissively, reaching for the eyebrow gel and filling in his brows. He really didn't need much, and you made quick work of his face, putting a sheer layer of foundation (making sure it reached that slender neck of his; you never thought you'd be so jealous of a mere brush), some bronzer where required, a little powder to finish it all off. The sooner you we're done with him, the sooner your misery of having him so close would end.

“You're not wearing makeup today?” he asked, looking at you briefly from head to toe until his gaze settled back to your bare face. Looking into his eyes, whatever song that was playing in the background seemed to fade away as you realised that he had been paying attention to you. You'd have been damned if his eyes lingered on you any longer, but you opened your mouth to respond.

A knock proved to be your saving grace, and a set assistant popped in, telling you that Tom was needed on set soon. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding in, thankful that the mood that hung in the air was kind of broken,

“I had a late start today,” you replied as soon as the door closed, waggling your eyebrows as a signal that he should get a move on.

“Oh, you don't need a drop of it anyway, darling.” You swear you heard a swoon in his voice, but you chose to give it no notice. You raised an eyebrow at him, posing a silent question as you looked at him incredulously.

“I- I mean, you can if, if you want to but uh…” What fresh hell was this? Tom Hiddleston, stammering?

“Off you go, mate,” you told him, not giving him a chance to redeem himself as you tapped his shoulder. He stood up, gave you a quick smile, and walked out.

“Mate??” You asked aloud as soon as you were sure that you were alone and out of earshot, chastising yourself for the cringey bloke-ness of the word.

You turned the speakers off and let out a huge sigh, burying your head in your hands. You didn't know how much more you can take of having his gorgeous face so close to yours on a daily basis. He was a thing of Beauty, and to be perfectly honest, you could never get tired of looking at him. And he was a magnificently kind human being to top it all off. You knew that you were beginning to love him, and if he were to ask you, the mere honesty of your emotions would race past your reason on the way to your lips. But this closeness between you two was what made things so difficult. No job on set could get more intimate with him than yours: fingers on flesh, face to face.

You sat down on the seat he had sat in and looked at yourself in the mirror. You greeted your reflection in the mirror with a disapproving expression. You were thinking about this way too much, and you may have been oversexualising the situation. At the end of the day, you were just his makeup artist, and he was the actor who deserved someone equal, someone just as stellar as him.

This mental chastisement went on for half an hour before the door opened from behind you. You turned around to find Taika by the door frame, looking cheerful as ever as he quickly let himself in and pulled up a chair to sit beside you.

“Did you put blusher on Tom? He looks pretty red,” he began, reaching for your eyeliner and reading the label. “Tattoo? How the hell do you take that off?”

“What the fuck, Taika? I didn't,” you told him, laughing as you did so. Taika had been your friend for a while, and it was actually he who invited you to take this job. “And as for the eyeliner, it lasts for a day, but it's quite easy to take off.”

“Today's the day, Mona Lisa,” he said in excitement.

“Really?” you asked, laughing a little at the nickname he made for you. You didn't know much about the scene he was talking about; all you knew was that Taika was going to play a drag queen kingpin that the spy team had to extrapolate information from.

“Oh yeah, totally,” he replied, a huge grin breaking through his face. He had made this role for himself for the express reason of wanting to have his makeup done by you. He reached for your makeup brushes and played with them against the back of his hands. You stifled a laugh; he was acting like a curious kid on a dentist’s chair, reaching for the equipment he can grasp and studying it like it was an object sent by aliens.

He sat through most of the routine asking you questions about the process and what the products you put on his face do —even when you were gluing his eyebrows up— until you were about to apply lipstick to finish the look.

“I know you have his uncanny ability to see through people and practically sense what’s going on even when nothing’s being said, but I know something you don’t~” Taika said, his voice taunting you as you turned around to look for that handheld mirror on the desk to give him a closer look of everything done so far.

“Really? What do I not know then, Taika?” you asked him, leaning against the edge of the desk as you did so, arms folded in front of you as you watched him inspect your handiwork. Taika was right for the most of it; your intuition was rarely ever wrong, and the reason why you pursued an undergrad degree of psychology before going into training as a makeup artist, aside from having a solid back-up, was to feed your hobby of people watching and seeing how a person’s psyche shows through the masks they wear. It was a good thing that Taika was your only friend on set prior to entering it, and that only your friends knew that you had that skill of yours; if your reputation of reading people preceded you, no one would want to even go near you. Freud’s effect, they called it in your Assessment class.

“You’ll know soon, girlie, just you wait,” he replied, turning to look at you before waggling his eyebrows the same way you had waggled your eyebrows at Tom awhile ago. You couldn’t stop yourself from laughing; you had stuck his eyebrows down and had drawn them in higher than they naturally were, so when he moved his eyebrows it looked like his eyes had popped in and out of his sockets.

“Don’t waggle your eyebrows, you might set off all the work I’ve done to keep them down!” you berated him despite being breathless from all that laughter, inspecting to see if he had done any damage to the look.

“Keeping ‘em down, like all those feelings you have for our boy Tom,” he said, looking straight into big mirror behind the desk. You shot him a warning look as you looked at him through the mirror before loosening up and smiling a soft, sad smile; that same smile that earned you the nickname of Mona Lisa, and it served as a little inside reference that no one else ever really got.

“Of course. What colour of lipstick would you like?” you asked, reaching down to pull up a train case. Opening it up, you presented him with a plethora of lipsticks, with colours ranging from nudes to blues and finishes ranging from mattes to metallics.

“Jesus Christ, it’s like a treasure chest, and it all belongs to you,” he whispered. You gave him a shrug; if there’s one thing you ever had a hoarding issue with, it was lipsticks.

“So what colour, Taika?” you asked him, pulling out some lipsticks that would match his look. You reached for Colourpop’s Rooch, Kat Von D’s Nahz Fur Atoo, maybe even that gorgeous metallic red shade you were saving because it was a limited edition release…

Taika touched the hand that reached for the tubes of liquid lipstick, signalling you to stop what you were doing. You looked back at him, and he shook his head.

“Can you put a creamy lipstick in me instead? One that would transfer a lot?”

You looked at him as if he had asked you to spread mud all over his face. “It’s integral to the script,” he whispered back, and you knew that with that reasoning, you couldn’t argue. You reached for a lipstick bullet and applied the finishing touch with a lip brush.

“Looks good with your skin tone,” you commented with an approving tone as you looked at his reflection in the mirror.

“And if it looks good on me, it’ll definitely look good on you too!” Taika said as he stood up. Before leaving the trailer he looked back to you, telling you that you should wear the lipstick too. You sat down, wondering why he asked you to do so. Choosing to not think about it, you started doing your own makeup.

Just as you were about to put on the lipstick, the door opened, and you looked behind you to find Taika, still in drag makeup, with Tom by his side. Taking Tom by the wrist, he practically shoved him onto you as his eyes met yours, wild-eyed mischief meeting confusion.

“I need you to put lipstick marks all over Tom and make him look like he was just fucked."

* * *

 

You closed your eyes in disbelief of Taika’s mischief. When he had asked you to put lipstick marks all over Tom, he didn’t mean mere stripes or whatever; he meant kiss marks. Kiss fucking marks. Apparently the plot of that scene was that Tom’s character had to go in alone to drag queen boss’s office, and he would leave the office covered in lipstick marks, implying that he had to employ sexual means to get the information that the team needed.

“Just fucked look,” you whispered to yourself, repeating Taika’s words. You felt your hands shaking as you put the lipstick to your lips, your breath quickening as the creamy formula glided past your lips. You checked if the application was seamless before turning around to face him, slightly shaking your head in disbelief. You still couldn't believe that Tom Hiddleston was seated in your trailer, waiting to submit to utter debauchery by your hands.

He saw your head shaking, and he gave you an understanding look. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he told you as he watched you walk on over to him. You looked at him apologetically as you set the lipstick bullet on the table by the side of the glorified couch, wishing that there was another way to do the job: lip stencils, intensive brush work, anything. But the both of you knew that this was the only way; everything else would look far from natural.

“Oh,” you sighed, breaking the silence. “But I must.”

You cupped his face in your hands as you leant in and kissed him on his cheek, your actions tentative and chaste as you drew back, looking at you handiwork. You looked him in the eyes and found his pupils blown wide, his chest heaving.

’From what?’ you asked yourself as he parted his lips, speechless but seemingly finding something to say. However, you weren't going to let him do that as your body disconnected from your brain, your thighs saddling his own. His hair knotted in your hands as you kissed him full on the lips, his stubble brushing against the edges of your mouth and sending a shiver down your spine as you let go of all your inhibitions and fears. To hell if he found it all out, to hell when he rejects you; you decided that you would live in the moment and see where it brings you.

He gripped your waist, and you moaned into his mouth, not expecting the sensation of his large hands holding you tightly against him. He moaned in response and pulled you down, shifting your bodies until his back was flat against the chaise longue. You pulled away for a moment, only to smother his jaw with deep kisses before your lips slid down his long, pale neck. You felt the blood rush through his veins under his supple skin, and it thrilled you to know that it was you who made him feel this way. You bit lightly into his neck and he let out a gasp. You looked up, a devilish glint in your eyes as your lips latched onto his neck, sucking on it hard enough to leave a hickey.

“Oh God, yes!” he groaned loudly, his hands tight on your hips. You sat up, saddling his crotch now, an eyebrow raised at the words he just uttered. A delicious shade of blush coloured his face, making him look more adorable than enticing at that moment. His arm reached for the lipstick on the side table, and he sat up to meet you face to face. Hooking his arm under your arm and holding you by the nape of your neck with one hand, he applied lipstick on your lips, his gaze intent on them as he breathed deeply.

Tom tossed the lipstick to the side (and it hurt you for a moment as you wondered what would become of it; that lippie was gifted to you by your friend, and she even had it custom engraved with your name) and held your face in both his hands. You looked at your reflection in the mirror above the head of the chaise longue; he did well on application considering the circumstances. Part of your mind went off to thinking of what would happen if he became an MUA on the side.

He interrupted your reverie with a passionate kiss to the lips, his hands pushing your face nearer his. You remembered what you had to do, and you pushed him back onto the chaise longue, your fingers making quick work of the buttons of his white button up. You put your lips on his collarbone and suckled lightly, eliciting a soft moan from his lips before your lips started to roam his torso.

Your lips glided down his abdomen as your tongue dipping into the shallow grooves made by his muscles there. Your eyes darted up to his face, only to find him gazing at you with a dreamy look in his eyes as he bit on his lip. His hand came into view, trepidation melding with need as it took yours and laid it gently on his belt buckle. You moved your hand down, and you felt a distinct bulge straining against his trousers. Just by touching it, you knew for certain that was so much bigger than anything else you've ever handled. You kissed the gloriously chiselled “V” that led to his crotch, making sure that you left some sort of mark with your lipstick.

He pulled you up and kissed you with so much need, your head getting dizzy as the sensation of his lips against yours filled you with so much pleasure. You started to forget your actual job as your hands fumbled and worked with his in unbuckling his belt while your lips were still locked with his. You undid the button as he pulled his zipper down, the zipping sound a resounding siren in your ears that warned you of trespassing the point of no return, that once you went any further, there was no going back—

_Knock knock!_

You gripped his hips in shock —tight enough to leave a new set of unrelated marks—as you both stared at the door with wide eyes. You hoped against hope that you couldn't be heard from the outside; you swore that Tom was being so vocal a few moments ago.

“We need Tom on set now!” Taika said through the door, and you just knew that you heard a giggle at the end of his sentence. You scrambled off of his body and onto your feet, and he stood up, doing his trousers up as a heated blush became evident on his face.

Now that you stood away from him, you were finally able to see the extent of your work. Lipstick smears all over his face, neck and torso, claw marks bright red against his chest and —oh God, was that an actual hickey? Spotting the dark bruise you left on his neck, you averted your eyes from his as he straightened up and opened the door, leaving (with his shirt still open!) just as Taika entered the door.

Taika’s makeup was off, and he gave Tom an evaluative look as they crossed paths in the doorway. He looked at you with a questioning yet taunting look in his eyes, and you scowled in disapproval of the gesture.

“Oh dear, what a mess you’ve made,” he said as he stood beside you, jabbing his elbow against your upper arm.

“Shut up, dude,” you sighed, worrying about what on Earth would follow next.


End file.
